The Day I(taly) Die(s)
by febrezedtrash
Summary: Because he had tied himself to this, after all. He chose this path, even if he didn't know it at the time. And Italy wasn't giving up. He didn't necessarily have a choice. And he'd stop at nothing to protect everyone, and escape with everyone. / Hetaoni: Songfic


cries so apparently has this rule where you cant have song lyrics in stories? thats really dumb tbh

anyways if you wanna read the fic with song lyrics here u go ar ch iv eo fo ur ow n wo rk s/ 46 87 19 9

Italy had never actually died, even when he wanted to. He was always revived, somehow. And sometimes, he wished he wasn't revived. Time after time, he had tried to change things. And sometimes he made progress, yet in the end, someone always died. Someone was always found lying in a puddle (or a pond) of their own blood. It wasn't fair. No matter what Italy did... Nothing changed.

Why couldn't he die instead? He deserved it most out of everyone. He'd been trying and failing, for so, so long, to protect everyone. And he kept failing. With how many times he'd been through the same day, it should have been simple to avoid those few fatal actions. But he didn't do things right. He always messed something up. He always failed.

Maybe he'd never give up. Maybe he'd never die. Italy didn't know anymore. He could barely remember who he was anymore. Maybe he'd keep trying, over and over, to keep everyone safe, and to escape. Maybe he'd die, and maybe he'd be revived.

There was that one time he'd had a complete breakdown, in front of everyone, telling them everything before begging that they'd kill him. They didn't listen. They made him live on, because they were selfish like that, to ignore Italy's suffering, just because they'd be sad if he died. It's not like he mattered, anyway... So, what if he just went on like this for eternity? Trying and failing and dying...

It had already been years, no exact number known. Italy had been in this same situation hundreds of times, yet he always managed to make a mistake. Why? Why was it so hard to do something so simple? He could barely think straight, when it came to that one area in the time-loop. He could barely think straight in general. There were just so many memories from other time-loops, thousands of them. What was he supposed to do again? Who was going to die next?

Sometimes, he just wished he could give up. Half of these people didn't even like him, no matter what happened in previous time-loops. Everything was reset, they didn't remember. Nothing changed. They didn't like him. And if they didn't like him, why should Italy try to save them? He could end his suffering, and just walk out of the mansion, finally free.

Yet he knew, he couldn't. If he tried to leave, he'd just breakdown. He'd be haunted by everything he'd already experienced, already heard and seen. He couldn't forget. All of his other memories were pushed into the back of his mind, leaving room for only the new ones.

If Italy did give up, all of his hard work would go to waste. He'd been trying forever, and if he did get out, he'd only be plaged by nightmares, and tortured by memories. There was no choice but to march on. Everyone had at least one person they were close with. If even one person died, someone would be devastated. That wasn't fair. Nobody should have to deal with that. And maybe Italy was being hypocritical; He had seen his friends die thousands of times. But he had no choice, and it was too late for him, anyway.

Occasionally, he stood in the corner of the room, smiling faintly. He had to keep up his usual happy Italy act, but at those times when he was distracted by his own thoughts, he forgot. At those times when he forgot, he'd think about all of the people in the room. For each person, he'd had at least one good memory with them. And he'd stare at them, reliving who he used to be. It was comforting. Because Italy no longer knew who he was. The only thing he knew about himself, was that he wanted to save everyone else.

Almost, he did save them, nearly. They had gotten outside. They had arrived at the gate, they were free, all of them. And they were all crying, even if only internally. Someone was clinging onto someone, tightly, scared, wanting to leave. And Italy was so convinced they were going too. But he was caught off guard. The monster had suddenly ran out, and lunged. It was the worst memory of them all. He could still see it in his head, replaying. It wasn't that gruesome, but he could still smell the blood. He could still hear the screams.

They were so close; He was so close... Yet still so far. He didn't do things right. Obviously. What if he never did? The monster, it always caught them. Caught them off caught. Caught them, dead.

It was hard: remembering who was who, what was what, where he was supposed to be, who was supposed to die, what was supposed to happen... It overwhelmed a person, it confused a person, even a nation like Italy himself. Nations weren't even supposed to die, that was what was so frustrating. Yet that stupid mansion, with it's stupid magic... Italy had confirmed it was the mansion, not the monster. Long ago he had wondered, until he killed someone himself (he couldn't remember who anymore). It haunted him, it tortured him, it ate him alive, but he had to do it. They would have died a much more gruesome death if he didn't.

Nobody deserved to suffer, except himself. He got himself into this, going back in time with that stupid book, because of his stupid deal. And he kept failing, no matter how many chances he got. He deserved all the burden, nobody else. And he hated how Romano had seen some of the things, some of his memories, just because they were apparently connected. It bothered Italy so much. Nobody else deserved to suffer like he did. Like he was. Even though it was only one time...

After Romano had came to the mansion that first time with Spain (and everyone else), he got tossed out of the loop, or something. He no longer had the memories, and was reset. He returned to the mansion each time with the original nations. The same happened with Spain. The nations waiting outside didn't remember a thing, either. Sometimes, Italy wondered if that was his only chance to change things, and he had screwed it up.

He remembered, after failing that time-loop, he had screamed. He had screamed, before breaking down in laughter and sobs. He felt like after that, he finally snapped. After that, he felt so out of it. His memories got worse, acting like happy, cheerful Italy got harder, and staying sane got close to impossible. He felt nothing, after that. But it was worth it, to try and save everyone, even though they wouldn't do the same for him.

Because he had tied himself to this, after all. He chose this path, even if he didn't know it at the time. And Italy wasn't giving up. He didn't necessarily have a choice. And he'd stop at nothing to protect everyone, and escape with everyone.

He didn't even feel like he wanted to keep everyone safe anymore... He didn't feel loving or protective anymore. He felt like he had to do it, like it was his job, an obligation. Nothing else. Maybe they really would escape, and everyone would come to love him, not hate him like they all seemed to. They did revive him, sending him back into his own personal hell, right?

But maybe Italy was to blame, after all, for saying the wrong things, at the wrong times. Maybe he shouldn't speak at all, to avoid saying the wrong things. Maybe that was the key to freedom: Shutting his annoying mouth. So, he'd stop giving hints, leading everyone to their doom. Or maybe he should talk as much as possible, distract everyone, distract himself from the agonizing anxiety. Or maybe he should tell everyone everything, before they enter the mansion. Or had he done that already...? Maybe he had. And maybe they were too big of assholes to listen, or to care.

None of them cared about Italy, and it was possible that none of them ever would. Maybe in the right timeline, where everyone was okay, none of them cared about Italy anymore, and/or they never did. That thought should have hurt him, but it didn't. After everything that had happened, he had grown numb. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Dead.

And sometimes, from having no emotions flow through him, he broke. He broke, those bottled up emotions, and lost control, and lashed out. He remembered a few times that it had happened, and he felt so, so guilty about them.

One time, not too long ago, he had been talking to Romano, probably. Italy had been vague, hinting towards future events, hinting towards past events from different timelines, but he never stopped bouncing up and down in fake cheerfulness. Yet, maybe he went too far, because Romano noticed. He noticed Italy's act, and the suffering behind it. Romano accused him, and Italy got defensive. One thing led to another, and Italy had snapped, attacking _his own brother_.

He swore he'd never forgive himself. Even with Romano's comforting. Italy's breakdown had triggered memories for Romano, from the first time-loop he had joined in. And many of the countless others. And Romano didn't blame Italy for anything, nothing. But he still didn't listen. He still tortured himself, putting all the blame on himself, all the guilt on himself, all the suffering on himself. But everyone else around him was dead, so even then, there was no one else to place those burdens upon.

During the rest of that time-loop, Romano stuck close to Italy. And in the future time-loops, Italy stuck close to Romano, trying to make himself believe he wasn't alone. Romano had cared, right? Italy hurt him, but he still cared. Romano didn't hate him. He didn't run from him. He didn't blame him. He had even said, "It's not your fault, it's the mansion's." being completely truthful and completely genuine. Even if the Romano in the other time-loops was different, with different memories and different experiences, he was still Romano, and Romano was still Italy's brother.

At times, times like that, Italy felt hopeful. He felt like he'd finally succeed in getting everyone out, safe and sound. But it never lasted long. When that monster returned, stronger than before, wiser than before, it was hopeless. It was only after Italy, but it always seemed to kill someone else trying to get him. What if he just didn't go? Would the monster still go after the others? What if he just hid? What if he just dropped hints, while running around crazily, so the monster(s) would attack him, and nobody else.

What if he died, before the others found out about his magical book? They wouldn't be able to send him back, right? What if he hid his book, where nobody would find it, and let himself get killed? What if everyone got out, if he finally died, for real?

He'd give away his soul and spill his heart, just to get everyone out. Even if he no longer felt protective over them, it still had to be done. He didn't know how much longer he could take this.

Because Italy felt selfish, honestly. He preferred his sanity over his friends. He preferred him freedom from this dark nightmare, over them. He used to be hopeful, bound to that hope, wanting nothing but their happiness. Now, he just wanted his escape, not from the mansion, but from the world. He couldn't forget. There was no point in him escaping if he'd just spend his time, trapped in hell, even after leaving.

There was Romano, anyway. He was also Italy, the southern half of it. If Italy Veneziano was gone, the country would be fine. Eventually. Besides, Romano only cared about Italy because they were brothers, connected. He'd get over it. So would Germany, he was tough. Japan probably didn't care about him all that much; Italy knew he was annoying. None of the others really cared either, and everyone else wasn't in the situation, or dead in from the first place. They didn't count.

There was also one more person... But despite that dream or hallucination from that one timeline, Italy doubted that he was still there. The thought of Holy Roman Empire sickened him. He had no right to show up in one of his worst times, and then disappear, again. Even if only his own subconscious dreamed that up, it still wasn't fair. But nothing was fair anymore, anyway. Taxes weren't fair, for example. Gender equality wasn't fair. And especially the mansion, that wasn't fair. Italy hated the mansion with every fiber of his being.

But he was the one who told America about the mansion, and even though America told everyone else, Italy told him first. It was still his fault. It was his mistake, and his fault, from the very beginning. He just wanted to become closer with everyone, and maybe try and help the world, getting the nations closer. He made things worse. He was stupid. He ruined it.

He ruined everything, after all. Italy didn't hate many things, but he did hate himself. Himself and the mansion. That was it. Himself for getting everyone into the mansion, and the mansion for existing. He wished there was something he could do, but as he's said hundreds of times by now: He's the guy who's only redeeming quality is his fast feet. Fast enough for running from the monster, but not fast enough for saving the others.

He couldn't save America, he couldn't save China, he couldn't save Russia, he couldn't save England, he couldn't save Canada, he couldn't save France, he couldn't save Prussia, he couldn't save Japan, he couldn't save Germany. And he couldn't save Romano or Spain, either. He couldn't save them, and he couldn't save himself.

Italy was aware. He walked on thin ice. He would have been worried, what if he fell again? What if there was no again? What if he fell and never got back up? The thought excited him, sparking a single emotion, but he only went back to numbness soon after. The excitement surfaced at the worst times. Sometimes, when one of his friend's dropped dead, becoming nothing but a corpse, Italy smiled. He smiled, because he knew he had messed up again. At least he got a second chance, right? Or should he say, a millionth chance? Who knows how long it's been?

Italy no longer wanted to feel safe. He no longer felt the impulse to raise his white flag and run. He felt the impulse to run, yes, but not surrender, to distract. If he distracted the monster, eventually everyone would find their way out. If he distracted the monster, so it'd focus only on him, nobody else would end up hurt. But what about the other monsters? It made Italy sick to his stomach. There were so many of them. When you're surrounded by so many, you're bound to run out of chances. Maybe he wanted to run out of chances, though. Maybe this was his last chance.

Some people think a lot. Italy was one of them. He thought too much, and this is what he thought about, within only a few seconds of standing there, surrounded by grey, no-please-leave-me-alone-enemies, and the other nations. But he knew he was about to be attacked, it happened last time. The screams that went around the room didn't phase him, and he hadn't even even flinched when he felt the large and dull claws sinking through his clothes and his flesh, ripping him apart physically; He was already ripped apart mentally.

And as Italy laid on the floor, staring up at the dark ceiling, with a hazy look in his blood-coated eyes, he wondered with nearly mocking hope, is this the last time? It was no different than his previous chance, or his last, or his last, or his last, but he was just so tired. And ready to give up. Ready to die. And if the his fellow nations died as well, so be it. He just couldn't take it anymore.

Italy didn't remember much, and he soon found himself awake, being held quite uncomfortably. He didn't bother checking to see who it was; It would be the same as last time. And the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change. He mentally prepared himself for the rest of the loop, expecting the same.

"You're awake," a voice stated. Japan. Italy knew, even before he awoke. He knew everything that was going to happen, after all.

Japan set Italy down quickly, looking uncomfortable and tired. Of course, Italy thought, Just like last time. He put on a bright fake smile before looking back at Japan. Nothing was different. He still was alive. And so was Japan, until the monster got him again. His white uniform was ripped and covered in red, the blood was dark and faded.

Until the day Italy dies, he'll continue living in this hell, trying and failing and suffering and dying, but never without being revived. Because his friends are selfish, and he doesn't know why he's going through this torture for selfish people.

Maybe he deserves it; He's selfish, too.


End file.
